A Balance in War
by Love8Peace
Summary: Mainly based in 5th year...Summer after his 2nd year, Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?
1. Chapter 1

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**ONE**

_Darkness and silence surrounded him as if the Earth itself could sense the danger nearby and was trying to avoid it. The moon was nonexistent, sheltered by the shadows of the night. How he wished he could be the moon, hidden from the horrors of the earth below. The trees refused to sway, refused to creak as if they feared a slight breeze would demolish their trunk. The animals, too, were silent, tucked away in their underground havens peering out at the world with frightened eyes. Even the crickets denied filling the air with the sounds of their songs. Through the silence he could hear the night shout the dangers that lay within its darkness. The worst part was he knew what lay beyond and there was nothing he could do._

_A harsh demeaning laugh broke the stillness of the night causing him to jump though he had expected it. That laugh told all one needed to know about the man who wielded it. It was like nails on chalk, sinister, over bearing, merciless. The trees still echoed with its menace even after it had long dissipated. _

_He knew what came next, but it didn't matter. The pain that flooded his system still took him by surprise. He huddled in upon himself, trying desperately to keep his cries silent but failing miserably. The laugh returned in full force, bringing with it another stab of pain. He could do nothing but take it and hope he would not break. He knew the outcome but that did little to appease his body and mind. Just because he knew did not mean this wasn't real. _

_The shadows around him began to dissolve as a figure approached him. He shut his eyes tightly, wishing it away but knowing it would not disappear. Pitiless fingers reached out and harshly took control of his head, forcing it upwards. He didn't want to see the man he knew to be in front of him but his eyes still flashed open as a small scream slipped past his lips. The pain grew sharper as the fingers dug into his skin. He could feel himself lose focus, knew he was close to his breaking point. But as his body began to give in, the hand slithered away. _

_He wished it had remained but a second longer, wished he could have been allowed to slide into the nothingness of the night. But it was not so. His body slumped forward as his breaths came out ragged and forced. His eyes drifted down to the ground in an abnormal show of submissiveness. He wanted nothing more than to look the man in the eye, but he knew he would not. _

_He could feel the man not a step away; feel the eyes on his being, the hatred pouring off him in waves. He knew the next move, but he still emitted a squeak of shock and pain when his hair was pulled savagely. All he wanted to do was rest, to sit in his misery, but it was not allowed. He was pulled into a standing position by the hand wrapped in his hair. He knew he would fall when he was released. His body was too weak to hold the position. So he was ready when the hand let go and he fell to his knees a dead weight. _

_Laughing resonated around him but not the icy laugh that echoed from before. He felt his heart stop at the realization of an audience despite having known they were there. He sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth and tried to force himself to see through the pain and weariness. He looked up at the man he kneeled before, wishing he were in any other position. Red eyes stared down at him with disgust and contempt._

_A feeling of weakness over took him; to be kneeling here like some faithful slave ashamed him. If he was going to die, he would do it standing proudly if not fighting fiercely. He pushed his hands before him and arranged his feet, trying to ignore the pain that erupted throughout his body. Slowly he levered himself off the ground and straightened his spine till he stood stoically before his tormentor. _

_The man's lipless mouth formed a sneer of disdain as he looked him in the eye. He could feel his strength draining due to the energy his new position required, but he was determined not to allow himself be seen as weak. Too bad he knew those present would always believe him a child, a nuisance, a weakling. _

_With new determination, he lifted his tired head and put on a show of strength and confidence. He wouldn't die a puddle of goo begging for mercy. _

_The man before him tilted his head sideways a fraction observing and analyzing him. He stiffened his muscles in the hopes of keeping his standing position. His head was spinning, his body shaking, he could barely see and he seemed to be on fire with the amount of pain engulfing him. But still he didn't allow himself to slip to the ground like he oh so wanted to do. _

_A vindictive and forbidding smile slowly morphed on to the pale face before him. He found himself growing more worried with this new development despite knowing what caused it. _

_He knew what was next, but his body still crashed to the ground in hopes of dodging a spell that never came. Laughter again escaped through the cruel mouth, leading the chorus of the others around them. He felt his face flush bright red in embarrassment when the wand rolled off the others hand and dropped into the dirt, splashing his nose and checks with a few small particles. _

_He stared at the wood before him, slowly comprehending that it was his wand that lay before him. Blinking once, he shifted himself onto his hands and knees reaching for the familiar weight. As his fingers clasped around it, he found a hand once more entangled in his scalp. He gave out a hiss of pain as he was again hauled upwards, doing his best to keep his wand securely in his grasp._

_When his feet found solid ground once more, he was shoved away. He stumbled a few seconds before he caught himself and straightened up, wand pointed down at the ground. He understood that there was little chance of escape; his best bet was to play till he knew the rules before searching for his way out; and he knew there was a way out. _

_Despite knowing he looked the fool, he stood there and waited for the other to speak. He didn't have to wait long for the second he proved he would not fall like a sack, the other pulled out his own wand. Nervousness over took his person as he stood there waiting for some inkling as to what he was supposed to do. The man did not point the weapon at him, only brought it to his face as if he were inspecting it._

_After a moment of silence and contemplation, the red eyes drifted over to him searching his face for something. Almost lazily the man twirled the wand between his fingers. He didn't know why but that simple act put him more on guard than any other action previously performed. _

_"You all thought me weak" the icy hiss slid off the man's lips but was not directed at him. He could feel the others shift cautiously around him, clearly afraid to answer that statement. "How could an infant defeat someone of any power?" he asked callously as if he were repeating their words. "That _infant_" he spat loathingly, "has grown to be a young man" red eyes inspected him, searching out his weaknesses and spitting on his strengths. He straightened his back in response, hoping to give off an air of power but doubting he achieved his desire. "Surely he has only grown in power." While the words could be a compliment in themselves, the tone made it explicitly clear that the man was mocking him. "So let us see who is stronger, a _child" he sneered _"or a dark lord." With that the others wand came down, a spell leaving his lips as the man leveled it in his direction. _

_His heart pounded, his body seemed to be acting as if it were surrounded by muck. He wouldn't be quick enough to defend himself. He wouldn't even be able to dodge. He was to slow, to inexperienced, to _weak_. He closed his eyes as the spell engulfed him. He hadn't heard the incantation, but based on the fire currently burning through his veins he knew it was some type of torture spell. _

_His knees gave out under him as his body succumbed to the pain. He could barely focus as his mind screamed for it to stop. But in a show of defiance, he clamped his mouth shut and tightened his grip on his wand; trying to maintain at least a fraction of his dignity._

_The curse was lifted shortly after but there was little relief as another spell came shooting his way. Again his mind seemed to freeze, but this time his body took over and forced him to quickly roll before pushing himself off the ground to avoid another jet of lights. He knew he wouldn't last long in a duel but he had to try. He was surrounded on all sides and fighting a man intent on his blood. His best bet was to dodge till he could think of something. _

_As he allowed his instincts free reign of his body, he pushed his mind to think. There had to be some way of escape. The others surrounding him had apparated in but he was not old enough to learn and had no thoughts on how such magic worked. He ducked under a curse and slid right, before rolling behind a tombstone, barely missing a string of red. The man had walked in but he knew there was no way he would be capable of walking out. The tombstone exploded, knocking him forward. His hands shot out to stop his impact with the cold earth and he maneuvered himself off the ground before feigning right and slipping behind the stone to his left. He came to be here by the portkey. _

_His body tensed in realization, the portkey was still activated and if only he could touch it he would be whisked away back to the safety of Hogwarts. The only problem being he had no idea where the thing currently lay. It could be anywhere and there was always the possibility that the man had already thought of that and destroyed it. But it was his only hope. Gathering himself, he left the protection of the grave marker and threw a spell at the other, trying his best to distract him. His opponent only wiped it from existence. He threw a few more in quick succession trying to keep the offensive position before the other turned the tables and he was once more forced into hiding._

_It didn't matter though, for he had found what he was looking for. His ticket home lay on the other side of his enemy, unscratched and forgotten. He would never be able to make it that far but he could summon it to him. He would need to distract the other in order to get it without it being destroyed. _

_He jumped out right, casting all the spells in his arsenal before shouting the summoning spell, his words not the only ones ringing through the air. Though he knew the outcome he still couldn't help the overriding sense of fear that consumed him at the green light heading his way. He knew well the effect of that curse. _

_Just as his eyes closed tightly the cup slammed into his chest. He swirled away before the light could touch him. A sense of relief and shock overcame him as he lost consciousness._

Green eyes flew open as the blackness consumed him. His body sprang up as his hand searched out his wand. Only after a moment of clasping it in his fingers did he come to realize it was only a dream. Allowing the wood to slide back into its normal position on the bedside table, he rolled his shoulders trying to loosen his tense muscles. He slid his feet from beneath the thin covers and silently placed them on the chilly wood floor. Leaning forward, he drew his hand over the back of his neck to wipe away the cold sweat that lingered there. He could feel the clamminess that coated his body, knew if he were to look in a mirror he would see a pale face with wide nervous eyes.

It wasn't the first time his memories had seeped into his dreams, but every time his body reacted as if it were experiencing it anew. He supposed he was lucky this time he hadn't screamed. Shaking his head of his thoughts, he searched out the glowing numbers of his alarm clock. Three in the morning was too early to do much, but he knew he was finished with sleep for the night.

Gliding his body off the coarse mattress, he grudgingly stretched his muscles trying to suppress the groan that typically followed. Knowing the possible consequences, he expertly skated across his room missing all the creaks that alerted of his presence.

Reaching the door, he slid down before it till he rested on his knees, eyes level to the knob. Thanking the stars that his relatives had yet to replace the padlocks from the year before, he delicately extended his left hand over to the molding beside the door frame. With nimble fingers, he pulled out the two thin metal instruments that hid in the small space between wall and floor. Promptly he drew them up before skillfully placing them in the lock of the door. A few seconds later a small click alerted him to a job well done. Replacing his picks to their rightful home, he softly pulled on the handle till the space was wide enough for his body to slip through.

Once free, he crept through the slumbering house; holding his breath when he neared his relative's rooms, listening carefully for their soft snores. When he reached the stairs he didn't halt a second, opting to take them two at a time while staying close to the wall in a manner that screamed of experience.

When he reached the bottom, he turned a sharp right and quietly made his way into the kitchen. He could feel his stomach grumbling in anticipation as he slid the refrigerator door open. Sadly, he knew he would not be able to get by with much. So instead of the feast he craved, he settled down to a quick meal of toast and cheese. Once these were devoured, he made sure the kitchen was spotless before arranging everything as it had been upon his entry.

A quick glance at the clock on the stove showed he had not even spent an hour away from his room. Deciding to make use of his free time, he reentered the hall and made a beeline for the cupboard under the stairs. The longer he waited to retrieve his school books and summer work the harder it would be to recover them.

Reaching down, he traced his hand under the overhang of the third stair pulling out the spare picks he had hidden there. He had five sets hidden throughout the house so if ever they were found he would always have another available.

The lock on the cupboard was dismantled quicker than the previous. The little storage room was exactly as he remembered it; dark, dusty, and claustrophobic. He slowly eased himself in, mindful of the sharp pieces of wood that longed to splinter off into his unprotected feet. He knew the place like the back of his hand, must have been all the nights he spent there over the years.

His trunk was easy to locate as it lay in the center of the little room, haphazardly thrown in and left to rot in its miserable prison. He longed to remove it, to take it with him but he knew that was not possible. Instead he slid over to it and noiselessly switched it open.

He had placed his needed books in his knapsack and made sure to pack it last so now it rested on the top of his other belongings making it easy to retrieve for the summer. Prizing himself on his thoughtfulness, he slung the heavy pack over his shoulder before escaping his old prison; locking the darkness within with the silent closing of the door.

His trip upstairs was just as soundless as his descent and in a matter of moments he was once more outside the door to his current prison.

Knowing his free time to be nonexistent, he placed his bag just inside the door and turned to head down the hall. The bathroom was the second on the left and right across from his cousin's room.

Like many other things, he longed to feel warm water pounding against his skin, washing the mental dirt down the drain along with the physical. But this was impractical and in its stead, he wet a towel to cleanse his face and arms of most the grime that clutched to his skin. He threw it in the hamper knowing it wouldn't be noticed. He wanted to wash his hair to remove the sweat and muck that clung to it but feared running too much water. He decided to leave it be for now.

As he was heading out the door his foot found something loud and crinkly in the darkness. His senses went on full alert as he froze trying to find out if the noise would awaken his nightmares. After a moment of stillness that seemed to thump throughout the house, he moved. Raising his foot and snatching up the paper at the same time to keep it from crackling again.

Deciding he earned a reward for his trouble and knowing it likely wouldn't be missed, he took the paper with him back to his room. Safely locked in the darkness once more, he placed the paper on his pillow before hiding his bag in a loose floorboard under the bed. Paranoid, he checked to make sure the lock was secure and his picks hidden from prying eyes. Deciding his cell was safe for inspection he moved back to the mattress, taking the paper into his hands before flopping down.

It had a thin oily feel that made him think it to be a newspaper. If so, it was only one page. Standing up once more, he carried the sheet over to the window so he might inspect it by the light of the streetlamp outside. His conclusion was correct. It was a section from last week's local paper, the front page to be exact. The majority of the page was covered with pictures of girls ranging from fifteen, sixteen to late twenties. He could just make out the headline by the muffled glow; it read "The Rampage continues".

* * *

**AN: **

**Well we survived through another one. Happy New Year everyone! **

**Tell me what you think! Yay, nah, what the hell was I thinking?! Want to hear it all! **

**Love8Peace**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**TWO**

It had been a week and a half since his return to his relatives, ten days and nine nights, and already he was plagued by the rumbling of his stomach, small cuts and bruises that littered his body, and a lack of sleep coupled with too much exercise. His body was ready to surrender. His mind was devising a plan of attack.

Though he was up early that morning, he was still running behind. He had chores stacked up from the days before that he hadn't managed to complete, nearly doubling his pile of things to do. He knew it was impossible to keep up and had long ago learned to do what he could and take the consequences for what he couldn't. If it wasn't for the fact that he was constantly pulled away for other nonsense he might have had a chance to catch up. But he wouldn't dwell on that.

Currently, his task was to de-weed the flowerpots and garden that circled the house; a task that wasn't strenuous, just time consuming. He might even have found it somewhat enjoyable if it weren't for the summer sun beating down on his back causing sweat to tickle down his spine. He reached up and wiped the dripping liquid from his forehead for the umpteenth time leaving a streak of dirt where the perspiration once inhabited.

He was only half way done but by the looks of the sun's position it was coming close to lunch hour. Deciding to leave the rest for after the meal, he pulled himself up off his knees and stretched his aching back. Trying to wipe some of the dirt and muck off his pants and hands, he made his way towards the back door.

He kicked his shoes off and left them at the door so as not to track filth on to the floors he had washed earlier and then made his way towards the kitchen. Apparently his cousin had some friends over as he could hear them shouting clearly as if they were beside him, something about some video game they were currently intrigued by.

He threw together several sandwiches and put them on a plate in the center of the table. Next came the bottles of pop; as he didn't know how many 'guests' were over he simply put out enough for the max. Deciding they wouldn't know if one went missing, he grabbed one for himself and retreated back to the yard. Finding a pleasant patch of shade, he slumped down nursing his soda and watching the occasional passersby.

It was a pleasant day when in the shade; the clouds had decided to take a vacation and the wind kept the over exerted sun at bay. It was rare for the weather to be this beautiful but he found himself longing for the cool dreary sky that was the norm.

A young kid ran by kicking a ball and laughing, followed closely by two others. They played in front of the yard a moment, circling and lunging for the ball before moving on down the street. He watched the carefree children as they played. How happy they were, laughing and smiling as they attacked and goaded one another. It amazed him that others could be so blissful and content when all he's felt recently was sadness and fear. He wouldn't begrudge them though, just envy their innocence.

They hadn't even noticed him.

His break ended before he was ready and he soon found himself back to work on the garden. The flowers were beginning to bloom and were beautiful but the bees and bugs that found safety inside were a whole other matter. Twice he got stung just for being too close or pulling the wrong plant.

Another hour and he was finally done, he could tend to his wounds in relative peace; at least for a few minutes before he had to move along the endless list to his next chore. As he was running water over the stings, his cousin found his way down stairs followed by a posse of four, all a head taller than himself and all nearly double in weight. He sighed lightly as they made their way towards him; _so much for a pleasant day alone_ he thought as he twisted the knob on the sink.

Within minutes he was out the door running, five different footsteps stomping the ground after him. He had no fear that he would outrun them. They simply couldn't keep up; he was lighter, faster, and in much better shape. It wouldn't be long before they gave up. The only downside was he knew once they ceased the chase they would return home. Home where his chores were, his incomplete chores; he would have to go back.

He ran full out until their steps began to slow and finally halt then jogged two or three blocks just to be safe. There was no way they kept up. He slowly began to reduce his speed till he was at a walk. It was a beautiful day. Why not enjoy it? He would take the consequences when he got back, but for now why not just walk? Enjoy the breeze and the rare sunshine. Listen to the birds as they sing and watch the carefree children as they play. Forget the world, forget his fears, forget his pain and troubles. Just walk.

And walk he did. For hours he meandered along, going this way and that way, walking down alleyways, through residential areas, in front of stores, by parks, and through crowds. He just walked, letting his feet lead and his mind wander. It felt idyllic, like he had closed his eyes to the world and existed only within his mind, his peace, his safe haven.

But sadly, all good things must come to an end and when he finally reopened his eyes to the world, he found the sun had set and the people had disappeared within their homes, the moon was high in the sky and the street lamps were flickering above his head. It was time to go back. But he really didn't want to. He didn't want to leave his peace, his serenity. He slowly ambled along, still wandering aimlessly, delaying in doing the necessary.

He took a left into another alleyway, feet easily avoiding the litter that covered the ground. With every step, the glow from the lamps and moon darkened until all light completely faded away. Still he walked, his eyes adjusting to the darkness with practiced ease.

A shift in the darkness, a low murmur, a thick thud; he paused. Noises were reaching his ears that should not exist in the small alley he currently found himself. A step forward brought him the creation of a shadow near the end of the alley; another, the realization that there were two, not one. A whimper and muffled scream followed by a low sinister laugh froze his body altogether.

His position had him hidden in the darkness, out of view from the pair situated down the alley. He listened and watched. His instincts told him something was wrong, but they were not so kind as to elaborate beyond that.

Quieting his breathing and masking his presence to the best of his ability, he cautiously moved forward. His eye sight was terrible; but as used to the dark as he was, his night vision was better than most. Twenty feet from the noise the shadows became distinguishable blobs of human beings. Fifteen feet from the two brought the image into focus enough to tell the gender and approximate age of the pair. Ten feet from the disturbance made it explicitly clear what his gut had been trying to tell him.

The smaller of the forms was a young woman, late teens to early twenties. She was lying on her back in an odd and undoubtedly uncomfortable position, one arm trapped beneath her and the other sprawled out in a position that shouldn't be possible. Her legs were stilled by the weight of the other's, her mouth silenced by its hand. The whites of her eyes were visible to him who stood ten feet away.

The other was clearly male and definitely fully grown. But his body was obscured due to the black cloth that covered him completely, making it impossible to accurately deduce an age. The cause of alarm, however, was easy enough to perceive. It rested in the man's other hand; the one not clasped around the woman's mouth, but instead came to reside near her neck. Nothing could be done to hide the silver gleam emitted by the formidable blade.

Their positions were not the only things to reach him ten feet away. The smell engulfed him as well. The sickeningly sweet smell of blood mixed with the tangible taste of fear and the acidic smell of bodily fluids were enough to make even the hardest stomachs heave.

The man was speaking, though the words were lost to him. His mind was otherwise devoted to devising a strategy. The woman was most likely non-fatally injured, but for how much longer? His main problem was in the inability to see where and how the wounds scattered her body. He could not heal her until he knew her ailments but he could not locate the problems until the threat was eliminated.

His only weapon was his wand inside his sleeve and if he were to use that in front of muggles who could identify him, he would be in a world of trouble. That could be easily solved with a quick memory charm after the fact but he was weary to do so. Ever since the Lockheart incident he has been loath to try such a spell on another human. He would need another way to go unidentified.

A disguise could work but it would be difficult. If the man was who he thought he was and the woman went to the police with his own description, they would go all out until they found him, to thank him if not arrest him. After all, it's not often a man with a stick can heal the incurable. Therefore, the disguise would need to be something to completely hide him, every significant part of his outer appearance. His mind quickly painted a picture of what he required then focused on the spells that would create it.

Three spells were all he would need, easy enough to use and taught in third year charms. There was just one more problem. The two would be drawn to him when flashes of light began illuminating from his shadowy corner. Perhaps he should knock the would-be murder out before changing his appearance. Or better yet knock both of them unconscious, heal her and run.

Before he could solidify his plans, however, the man took the decision from him with four words that were whispered so softly yet reverberated loudly around the miniscule area. "…death longs for you." As he spoke, the hand holding the knife rose ever so slowly. It was clear this was meant as mental torture for his victim and a look at the eyes of the woman showed how magnificently it was working.

His mind froze as he stepped forward, arm raised only to watch as the man's hand slashes the knife down into the unprotected flesh of her stomach; a small gasp of pain and another thud followed by another and then another.

Six times the knife comes down, six times the man stabs the woman, six times the blade sinks into her flesh and muscle, and yet he does nothing. He stands but ten feet away able and willing to stop the blatant murder happening before him and yet his body refuses to move.

Meticulously, his eyes follow the blade as it rises once more. The speed of the man's movements seems slower to his eyes, but he knows it's unlikely anything has changed. The adrenalin rushing through his veins is more than probable the instigator for his heightened senses. He can see the man slightly change the trajectory of the blade. A quick calculation alerts him to the man's next move. The next strike will be a killing blow.

And still he is motionless.

Pain. His head burns like never before. His body convulses as his knees give way. He is not even slightly aware of the other man's halted movements. Or the fact that his position has been compromised. The only thing he knows is pain. Pain that originates from his forehead before seeping into his eyes and pounding within his skull. Pain that is so intense, his systems begin questioning their desire to continue.

And just as quickly as it came, it was gone again.

His systems go into overdrive, his muscles twinge and twist, his heart beats erratically, and his eyes snap open as a pained groan escapes his lips. His body begins to compensate for the sudden onslaught and unpredictable departure. Trying to establish a shield for the next encounter with such pain and doing its best to heal what the first attack destroyed. His internal balance is shifted, nearly obliterated.

Too late, he realizes the absence of life ending thuds as he is pulled up by the hair and slammed into the wall that once hid him with its shadows. A sharp instrument digs into the defenseless skin at the base of his throat. He reacts reflexively as his wand slips into his hand and sparks go flying. He does not know what spell leaves his lips only that it is successful in dispelling his attacker.

His body on auto pilot, he shifts into a defensive position as his mind tries to comprehend his new situation. The attacker comes for another assault, wielding the knife as if it were a sword. He only manages to miss the descending steel as a new round of sparks leave his wand. The attacker dodges with unexpected ease and rushes in to strike once more. He pushes himself from the wall and, he realizes too late, away from the safety of the shadows.

The blade slices through the air around him but he ducks, twists and avoids it every time. His mind suggests thanking his cousin for this ability but his body is too preoccupied to respond. It is with this thought that he realizes the separation of the two. His body seems to be being controlled by another essence.

Before he could fully comprehend this realization the attacker was upon him again, coming in close in an attempt to end the fight quick. The blade slid sideways in an unpredictable movement, digging into his wand arm and causing the wood to go skidding away as instinct loosens his muscles. The man stepped forward, shifting the knife into another hold as he forced him back.

He could feel the heat of the man as he overwhelmed him and backed him against the wall. See the crazed spark in his eyes as he raised the blade up and brought it before his face, mocking him. Smell the blood that painted his attacker's clothes and speckled his skin a deep burgundy red.

Instantly he knew this man would kill him. And he couldn't bring himself to care.

Precisely and intimidatingly, the knife ever so slowly began its descent. It was not meant to kill him, it was meant to hurt, to heighten fear. There was no doubt the strike would be painful, but the man did not allow the force of gravity to give it that extra push in order to kill.

He watched the blade with hooded eyes as it sank towards his shoulder. He expected to feel fear, hatred, dread, longing to survive. But no emotions graced him with their presence.

The blade was less than a few inches from his skin when he closed his eyes. He would wait for the impact, the pain, the freedom.

Instead of the darkness he expected to fall into, the night was adorned with a faint red glow.

* * *

**AN:**

**Everyone give a round of applause to the betas without whom this would have been a mess.**

**Spookie Kitten**

**Speed of Darkness **

**I also want to shout out to those of you who decided to move with me from Medic. Thank you for sticking around.**

**And of course Thank You to everyone who alerted, favored, and/or reviewed!**

**Next update will come out March 1st, hope to see you then.**

**Love8Peace**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**THREE**

He opened his eyes to the attacker sprawled on his back and his own hand shoved straight out, fingers spread, and palm forward.

He didn't understand.

He brought the appendage to his face to inspect the light glow it was giving off. Every inch of his skin, from fingertips down his palm and over his wrist, was marred in some way. He watched little droplets of blood begin to seep through the small cuts that hadn't existed moments before as his mind thought over the possibilities.

Had he just completed his first bout of wandless magic? Was said magic even possible or was it simply a more complex version of accidental magic? He twisted his hand in the darkness, inspecting each and every little abrasion that littered his skin. Was this the aftermath of using such magic? Why? Why does it not hurt?

But his mind did not have the pleasure of digging deeper into this mystery as a low, gurgled, moan drug him from his curiosity.

His eyes drifted up to locate the cause of the noise. At that point he felt like an idiot. How could he forget? His whole reason for being here was slowly succumbing to the darkness he had just escaped.

His eyes widened with realization before departing from her face to search out his wand, his mind wondering over different spells and their possible effects on her clearly failing vitals. Finally he found the stick of wood lying in a pile of used wrappers near an old decrepit stone wall twenty some feet away.

He ran to it and snatched it up from the garbage before turning on his heel to greet his new patient. The few seconds it took to retrace his steps felt like some of the longest in his life. He could see her sickeningly pale face now scrunched up in pain, see her eyes clenched tightly shut in order to drown it out, see her teeth slammed closed in the hopes of keeping quiet and see the blood as it seeped through the open gaps of her mouth painting her skin a deadly red.

He fell to his knees beside her. He could feel the beginnings of panic and shock attack his system but he couldn't allow that to overcome him. Never before had he treated someone so close to death and he wanted desperately for another to come and take the job from his hands. But that was illogical. No one was coming.

He smacked his head to try and clear it. It would do no good to have his mind elsewhere. If this woman was going to have any chance of survival he had to be completely occupied with his work. He knew that, and yet his mind refused to calm. He couldn't force his breathing to slow or his body to stop trembling. His brain recalled the spells but his eyes refused to focus on the wounds to know which would be useful.

He knew he had to do something. His inaction earlier caused this innocent woman her injuries, the least he could do was act now. Just like before though, he found himself frozen. He needed something to ground him, something to calm him, something to bring him back to reality for good.

Unthinkingly he lifted his wand and placed it at his wrist. No words escaped him, no spell said but his wand knew what he wanted. Without any help from his end, the tip glowed white. Pain erupted from the point where it touched, acting as a spark to ignite a fire.

It was what he needed. He clenched his teeth and quickly yanked his arm away. The place where the wand touched his skin was bleeding profusely, probably in need of a few stitches. He hadn't meant to cut himself that deep, but it didn't matter. He would deal with it later.

The haze that once covered his mind, albeit unknowingly to him, had vanished.

Without another hindrance, he set to work. His wand came to rest against one of the deeper gashes at her stomach as he muttered a spell to slow the bleeding. His free hand went to check her vitals while his eyes watched the rise and fall of her chest counting the time between breathes.

She was not doing well. Each breath came later and later; it was only a matter of seconds before she breathed her last. He closed his eyes, at this point there was little he could do. He contemplated putting the poor woman out of her misery. But that thought only lasted a second before he shoved it away. Still, he had no doubt she would be the first patient he lost.

His eyes snapped open as a hand flopped into his lap.

Beautiful blue as the sky eyes locked onto him. He felt his breath catch. Her eyes revealed every bit of the pain she was going through, but they also held something else. Something he had not expected to see from a person so close to death, comfort and love. It was as if she was trying to tell him it would be okay; that she didn't blame him and that it was time for him to rest. There was no fear or anger, no hatred, not even regret. A second later, those amazing, loving eyes were once more hidden behind clenched lids as she fought off another wave of agony.

She was fighting, fighting a battle that very few could win; but fighting none the less. It was not his right to give up this battle. If she wanted to fight then, so help him, he would fight as well.

With a new resolve, he tore off his shirt before pressing it to one of the stab wounds. Putting his weight behind it with one hand to try and preserve her limited blood, he placed his wand at another gash and cast a concentrated diagnostic. It was deep, slicing into a few muscles and nicking the liver. Overall, that in itself would not be life threatening. He quickly closed the wound with a spell he had never used but read about at the end of last year; watching in awe as the muscle grew lithe little tendrils and began pulling themselves together. As the muscle completed its reformation, the skin too began to knit into one solid piece until all that was left of the once gaping wound was a thin white line.

He quickly moved on. There were three wounds that barely sliced into the muscle he repeated this process on. He ignored all the lesions only skin deep that crisscrossed all over her body and moved on to the two large stab wounds remaining.

He lifted the shirt off the gash beneath him. It was soaked through and through with blood, but he ignored that. He really wished he had a blood replenishing potion he could force down her throat because at the rate she was losing hers she would be envious on the amount of blood a bird had.

He replaced his shirt and pressure on the lesser of the two wounds and once more cast the spell for the refined diagnostic. What he found made him swear. He really should have started with this one but it was too late now, he would just have to cope and hope she didn't lose her life for his silly blunder.

* * *

**AN:**

**Yes yes I know, super short. I'm sorry!**

**I bit off too much this month between trying to plan my parents 25th anniversary (as the only child who still lives close), studying for and taking exams, and normal boring old work I just didn't have time to write.**

**(I didn't even get the chance to send this to a beta reader!)**

**I'll make it up to you though.**

**Everything comes to a head next week and then I have a beautiful and magnificent Spring Break. So, to stop you from going all angry mob with pitchforks and fire on me, I will update on March 13th instead of April 1st. **

**As always Thank you to the people who favored/alerted this!**

**and a Special Thanks to my reviewers:**

**Fallen-Petals15 **

**Cassandra30**

**Speed of Darkness**

**Hope you guys like this chapter though it is no where near what I wanted it to be.**

**Anyway, please leave a comment. I don't really care what it says, though it would be awesome if if was constructive criticism... **

**Love8Peace**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**FOUR**

The would-be murderer had stabbed right in between her ribs and left a moderately sized gash in her left lung and a small nick in her heart that likely caused the bleeding from her mouth. It was obvious to him, something he should have realized immediately and dealt with first. It had the potential to kill her and he had ignored it.

Calling himself all kinds of stupid mentally, he placed his wand over her wound and cast the spell again to slow the bleeding. The spell he had used to stitch up the muscles would not work here for the lungs and heart were much more fragile, and he feared he might cause them to shut down completely if he were to use the excessive force expended by that spell.

There were specialized spells for each organ of the body; lungs, heart, and brain holding the more complicated and advanced incantations. He was a self-trained mediwizard with little access to high quality material or even practice dummies. He had not yet begun to look into the specialized spells, their uses, or the reasons behind casting certain spells over others depending on the organ or place in the body.

He was in unknown territory with little choice but to wing it and hope he did something right. If he did nothing, she would die. If he did something wrong, she would die. If, by some miracle, he got something correct, she had that much more chance of survival. How long, he didn't know. But she might just live. That possibility had him thinking over everything he had read about the lungs.

They were covered by two thin pleural membranes that worked to keep the lungs airtight and away from the other organs. They were free standing from the other and if one ruptured the other should continue to perform effectively. Unless the chest cavity was punctured, as clearly it was. The cavity would be sucking in air instead of the lungs, making it harder for her to breathe. He needed to make the cavity air tight again and hope the right lung would sufficiently support her.

He didn't know any medical spells that could help him, but his mind drifted to the Bubble-Head Charm Cedric used in the second task of the tournament all those months ago. If he cast a smaller version, enough to close the hole in the cavity caused by the knife, he would still be able to see and deal with the wound and it might stop the cavity from taking air from the lungs.

It was worth a shot and he was running out of time. It couldn't do any more harm than what was already playing out. With that last justification, he cast the spell trying to focus it to where he wished and failing miserably as it surrounded his own mouth as originally designed. He dissolved it and tried again, flicking his wand a little more forcibly in the direction of his target. The spell did nothing but light up the end of his wand. Three more times he tried the spell with different movements until he got the results he desired. It wasn't a permanent fix, but it would hopefully give him time to work.

His main goal would have to be stitching the small hole in the heart to stop it from spilling out any more blood into the chest cavity. That would be hard, seeing as the organ never stopped moving. Whatever he used would have to be flexible and watertight. He raked his brain trying to think of a spell, any spell that might offer a solution.

From the recesses of his mind a conversation during one of the many Gryffindor Quidditch practices floated forward. He recalled Angela talking about how difficult it was to keep a hold on the quaffle and her broom at the same time. Wood had suggested the gripping charm that most pro players used. He even recited the incantation and showed her the wand movements to save her the time of researching it in the library.

He wondered if he could cast that charm to work on either sides of the hole in the heart and have them grip together, successfully closing the hole without forcing it to far or permanently together.

If it worked, it would be far from permanent as the gripping charm wasn't meant to handle a lot of pressure. It would not last long. Then again, not many of his current solutions would. It was times like these that he really wished he had some sort of phone. 999 would be of great service at this moment.

He slowly and deliberately cast the gripping charm, making sure his wand hit the spot in the heart right above the hole. He waited anxiously for the heart beat to close the hole. Five times it beat without forcing the two sides completely together, but on the sixth it finally clasped and the spell took hold. He inspected his work as the heart took another beat. The gripping charm was doing its job. The hole was much smaller, only allowing a few drops to seep out instead of the steady flow of before.

He needed to get this woman to the hospital. That much was certain. His spells could fail at any second. But the problem was he couldn't take her there with his spells still in place. The muggles would be curious and confused. But he was barely fifteen, how was he supposed to know how to do heart surgery?

He closed his eyes, which was more important? This woman's life or muggles finding out about the magical world? He knew his opinion, but he also knew that would not match up with the opinions of many others. And why was he thinking about this. The others weren't here. He was. It shouldn't matter what they thought. He should do what he thought best.

With that in mind he nodded to himself and looked back at his patient's face. For the first time, he realized her lips and the areas around her nose and eyes were turning blue. His eyebrows narrowed in confusion; only one word running through his mind, _What?_

He looked down at his work trying to figure out what he had done wrong. The gripping charm was still in place keeping the heart together. The bubble head charm was also still adequate, keeping the outside air from reaching…

Oh, he was such an idiot. The bubble head charm provided oxygen for the caster to breathe. Meaning he had just made it easier for the cavity to get air instead of making it air tight. Oh, he was so, so, so stupid.

He lifted the charm and decided to go the old fashion way of using muggle techniques. There was litter all over the place; it wasn't difficult to find a plastic wrap that likely once held someone's lunch. Smoothing it out, he quickly placed it over the hole in the cavity and pressed it there with his wand free hand. Within minutes the color started returning to her face. He let out a sigh of relief. He had made so many mistakes and yet she was still alive.

Her eyes once more opened to him, this time much clearer. She smiled through her blood crusted lips and breathed in a shallow breathe that stated she was still in pain. He reached down and took her hand, replacing his own holding down the patch.

"Hold it here" he said, voice cracking and strained.

At her slight nod, he got up and ran for the exit of the alley, hoping to find someone or something that could help him. He looked left and right eyes scanning the area closely. There, two blocks down and sitting on the corner, was a phone booth. He sprinted for it, not even closing the door behind him before picking up the receiver and dialing 999.

He waited anxiously as it rang twice, each chime sounding for ages in his ear. On the third ring, someone finally picked up.

"Emergency ser…"

He cut off the young woman "I need an ambulance immediately. A woman's been stabbed and is close to bleeding out."

Silence greeted his words, after a few seconds that seemed like hours the woman on the other end asked "where are you?"

He looked up at the signs not three feet away, "The phone booth at the intersection of Main and College. The woman is in an alley about two blocks down Main."

Another pause, "I will have someone there as soon as possible, please stay on the line while…"

But he was already gone, laying the receiver down without hanging up and heading back to his patient. He would make sure to disappear when help finally arrived, he didn't want to deal with the hassle of it all. But he would also make sure she survived long enough for that help to be of service.

He went to his knees beside the woman and immediately she looked up at him. He smiled his most gentle smile and moved his hand over hers. The patch was still in place and her bleeding had slowed a great deal though there was still one major wound he hadn't messed with. It didn't appear to be as life threatening, luckily missing all vital organs and only digging deep into her muscle; most definitely painful but not deadly. He decided to leave it so the paramedics had something to do and would not take her situation lightly.

Instead he began to talk, trying to keep her awake and focused. He told her where she was, what had happened, and that there was help on the way. She listened intently and nodded along. When there was a break in his explanation she coughed out three words, "why hel' me?"

His body stiffened. _Why help her?_ His mind couldn't wrap around the simple question. The answer was so obvious. Why would anyone ask such a question?

"Because you needed help" He replied after a moments pause.

She smiled again, and drug out "don't 'ow me."

He could feel the confusion settle over his face on display for all to see, "No I don't, but that doesn't mean I could just let you die."

"You 'bout did"

He looked at her again, feeling slightly annoyed and helpless now as well "I'm only fifteen, I don't…" He cut off as she shook her head as vigorously as someone in her state could.

"'lmost die" she clarified.

He understood; she was referring to his bout with the would-be murderer. He could only smile at her for he had no answer to that. She seemed to understand.

"'ank you"

He smiled a sad smile and shook his head to wave off her thanks, it wasn't needed.

He could hear the sirens now, they were getting louder and louder and it would be moments before they pulled into the alley.

He put his hand on her forehead and said, "Don't fall asleep, they will be here in moments but I can't stay."

She blinked slowly and looked up at him with those same loving eyes of before.

"Go" she said as the flashing lights engulfed the darkness. When the Ambulance turned the corner a few seconds later, he was gone.

* * *

**AN:**

**Pssh, I totally said the 15th not the 13th...Sorry, I really am.**

**You guys don't need my excuses so I won't share them. This is the second part of the last chapter. Had I had my way, these two would have been posted as one...but oh well.**

**I hope you all enjoy this, though to me this chapter seems more juvenile than I like.**

**Thanks to everyone who read, favored, or alerted since last time.**

**Special Thanks to my reviewer:**

**Lady Leaf8  
**

_Hope I made his age a little clearer, deeply sorry for the confusion_

**Love8Peace**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**FIVE**

The walk home was tense, stiff legged, and far from pleasant. His mind continually roamed back to the woman in the alley and he had to fight for every step that led him away. She was in good hands, the paramedics could handle it, he wasn't needed, he would only get in the way.

Streets flickered by as he quickened his pace; he didn't need to return, he shouldn't return, he wouldn't return.

The journey that took hours before was completed in a matter of minutes as he found himself outside of his relatives' house. He slowed his pace until he was at a walk so as not to ram into the front door. He hadn't forgotten about his chores, they just seemed insignificant to him now. All he wanted was his bed and nothing would stop him from getting to it.

As the door swung in, he found out just how wrong he was. The house was chaos, lamps thrown down, furniture tossed on its side, trinkets shown all over the place, and stuffing floating in the air and speckled across the ground like a layer of snow. But the worst had to be the noise. How had he not heard it outside?

His relatives were screaming and yelling as if their fingernails were being drug from their bodies. His muscles tensed as two words floated through his head: _He's here?_

Slowly and quietly he walked further into the house, quickly shutting the door behind him. He didn't need any prying eyes. Not if a mass murder of the wizarding world was within these walls. He pulled his wand out and up and silently made his way towards the deafening pigs he called family.

His shoulders strained forward in a protective stance, his feet moved noiselessly along the carpet as he stuck to the walls and headed towards the living room.

Stupefy was on the edge of his tongue when he rounded the corner, only it was far from necessary. There was no avenging dark lord ready to tear his eyes out, no Death Eaters torturing his relatives, no blood or gore, and no pain or death.

There was his overgrown cousin hiding beneath a too small coffee table, his too skinny Aunt yelling at her husband to calm down, and his infuriated Uncle swinging a broom as if it were a cricket bat. And of course, the cause of all this chaos decided to land on his shoulder. Lucky him. Today just wasn't his day.

He shifted his weight to balance the overgrown owl before connecting eyes with his purple faced uncle. He could practically hear the man's heart struggling to keep the blood running to other limbs besides his head. For a second, he wondered if there was enough blood in his system to succeed in such a feat.

"Get that _bloody_ bird out of my house NOW, Potter!" apparently there was for, unfortunately, he was still standing. Used to the ongoing of his family, he only nodded and left the anarchic room for the much more peaceful kitchen.

Owl still perched precariously on his left shoulder he opened the fridge and peeled a slice of ham from its container. Coaxing the disgruntled bird on to the counter, he prayed his family didn't choose that moment to hassle him.

He knew the bird carried a letter, that much was obvious; but only once the bird was sitting before him, did he see the unmistakable gleam of red he had only encountered once before; and once was more than enough.

Shocked, the ham slipped from his fingers on to the dark granite where the bird greedily gobbled it up. With nothing left to do, he dropped his hands to his side not wanting to go near the bird or the letter. Either the owl had little patience for him or held a grudge towards his blood for, not a second went by before, it was nipping at his fingers none to gently.

He swore quietly before fixing the beast with a halfhearted glare, "Bloody bird, I save you from my family, feed you, and this is how you show your gratitude?" The bird cocked its head to the side before nipping his fingers again. This time he pulled his hands from the line of fire and took two steps back. "Fine keep your letter, I don't want it anyway" He turned for the door but didn't make it a step before a weight landed on his shoulder.

Not wanting to deal with the demon beast any longer he pulled the bird down his arm in order to get to the letter attached to its foot. The second the twine fell away the bird was out the window and quickly becoming a dot in the horizon.

He watched after it with longing eyes before turning his attention to the red envelope in his hands. This was not going to be pleasant. Flipping it over, he noticed the Ministry's seal. His eyes widened in comprehension before narrowing in bewilderment.

Sliding a finger along the thick parchment, he broke the seal then dropped it onto the counter to wait for the screaming. The parchment began to morph until it held the shape of a mouth then read its contents in a level voice.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you performed multiple spells between the times of forty-two minutes past nine and seven minutes past ten. Of which, all spells were cast in a muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a muggle.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12th.

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

He felt his blood run cold. Did this mean he was expelled? Would his wand be snapped? He watched with worried eyes as the paper mouth began tearing itself apart to fall to the counter in pieces where it knit itself together in a paper copy of what it just stated.

He let his head fall to the cool granite. This was not good. He had done underage magic, but he had done it in order to save a life. Surly that was forgivable. He groaned, before pushing his tired body from its perch and dragging his feet through the door to the hall.

He didn't know how he did it, but somehow he managed to make it to his bed before collapsing. He would figure this out in the morning. Right now he was emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. Letter in hand, dressed in dirt covered, blood stained clothes, and coated in grime from head to toe, he fell asleep. Hopefully to wake up and find this whole day was just a horrible nightmare.

* * *

**AN:**

**Well, I'm not to fond of this chapter. Seems a little choppy to me, but tell me what ya'll think!**

**I would have made this longer, but that would mean including the trial and that ended up being WAY to long so you get a short chapter instead. _Sorry._**

**Thanks to my reviewers:**

**Kairan1979**

**tobi-mentally insane**

_I hope this chapter is a little more unique_

**Cassandra30**

**And of course Thanks to everyone who read, favored or alerted!**

**I would like to say the next update will be early but seeing as I am coming up on finals I fear it will probably be early to mid May. Hopefully, ya'll will stick around!**

**Love8peace**


	6. Chapter 6

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**SIX **

Sadly, the sun has never, and will never, follow a single person's whim. Therefore, it was with a tired sigh and painful wince that he opened his eyes to the early morning light. He was dead tired, his head pounded louder than his heart and he could feel the healed over scabs as they pulled at his skin. Looking down he found his body encrusted in every type of filth imaginable thanks to his extended stay in a certain alley.

Slowly he shifted himself upright, away from the comforts of his threadbare mattress. No matter how he felt, time would continue on and he still had work from the days before that needed completion. Forcing himself from his bed, he dragged his weary feet out of the room and down the hall; not even noticing his relatives had forgone the locks on his door.

Running his hand through his hair, he completely ignored the mirror in favor of the shower. He knew he looked like death warmed over he didn't need to see it to. Stripping out of his pants and undergarments he started the water, setting it for nuke warm. Grabbing a wash cloth, he contemplated the whereabouts of his shirt. Right now, it was unimportant; but he was almost certain it remained at the crime scene. He could only hope it was so contaminated by the woman's blood that no one would be able to find him through the old article of clothing. Not that it really mattered at this point; but, knowing his luck they would think he was the murderer or something.

Sighing and rubbing his head once more, he stepped into the running water letting it wash all his thoughts down the drain along with the blood and dirt. He couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a long shower meant to relax and comfort him, and now was not the best time for such a thing, but he still allowed himself the luxury of experiencing it. He had had a long day yesterday and he felt a little peace was deserved. The fact that no one bothered him seemed to validate that idea.

Twenty minutes, he spent enjoying the warm water. Letting it drain through his hair and over his skin. Feeling its warmth heat his body and relax his taunt muscles. Finally, he simply had to turn the faucet off, though he was far from enthusiastic about it. He would remain there all day if he could, but that was a waste of time he could spend being productive.

He grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself off before wrapping said towel around his bony waist. Clean and somewhat presentable, he stepped up to the mirror to gage the overall damage done to his body.

His typically unruly hair was plastered to his face by the force of water dripping down each strand. The shadowy black tresses hung limply around his sallow white skin, supplying contrast to make him look deathly pale. The darkness of his hair did wonders on his eyes, brightening them several degrees to give them and unearthly appearance.

Unfortunately, the water dripping down his person did nothing to clear the contusions and mutilations that inhabited his body. He had a long purplish bruise along his neck that did a wonderful job of hiding the scar where the knife met his skin. There were a few minor discolorations that speckled his torso, but he could not recall the origins of them. His arm had a long gash that was healing decently, but it would likely be a part of his person for years to come. He supposed he should count himself lucky that it was shallow otherwise he might have had to endure an interrogation from his relatives. Though, come to think about it, they didn't even notice his shirtless appearance when he came home last night.

Spinning around, he inspected his back. Instead of the fair skin that normally resided along his spine he found a range of colors from black to blue that sparked from his mid back and crept out, coloring his skin in slightly lighter hues the farther from the center it traveled. There was no skin left the dull pale color that embodied his normal tone. He closed his eyes in resignation and made a mental note to be careful of backing against walls or slinging things over his shoulder. He did not need anyone knowing how injured he was.

Securing the towel tighter, he left the peace of the bathroom for the hollowness of his bedroom. Uncaringly, he dressed himself in a worn out pair of trousers and a shirt much too big. He shook the water from his hair before running his fingers through it; a few were nearly gobbled up by the unruly tufts. Giving up on taming the feral strands, he headed for his wand situated next to the alarm clock.

As he approached, his eyes were drawn to the glowing numbers that dully shined in the natural light. He flinched to a halt a foot away from the stand as the numbers sunk into his head. 9:37 a.m. It was 9:37 in the morning. It was not possible he slept in that late. Not possible his relatives had not called him, and most definitely not possible that he only now realized the time.

And yet, the numbers did not change. It was 9:37 a.m.

Hastily, he grabbed up his wand and spun, securing it to his waist as he flew towards the door, only to halt with sudden realization. The door was unlocked. No one had set the locks the night before, and, he realized, no one had come to check on the excessive flow of water that signified his shower.

Hesitantly, he left the safety of his prison and silently made his way towards the stairs. He wanted to run forward, face whatever waited for him head on with his wand up and his head held high. He wanted to fight; fight for himself, fight for his 'home', and fight for the lesser of two evils. However, he realized this was not the best course of action. Currently, he knew not what stood at the bottom of those stairs. Perhaps his family was entertaining some guests or maybe even his relatives had taken off; there was no reason to jump in wand a blazing.

In a decent replica of his normal style, he took the stairs two at a time, sticking to the side and silencing his footfall. Upon reaching the bottom landing, he inspected his surroundings. There was the chaos created by the owl not twenty-four hours ago, but that seemed to be all. He took a quick look through the doorway of the living room to see it to was covered only by the mess of the owl. It was empty, nothing was too abnormal, that was good.

He allowed himself to relax minutely as he turned towards the kitchen. He took a few steps forward and reached out for the door, but didn't open it. A voice rang through the small area, one that was rich and creamy, easily feminine and most definitely new to his ears.

"…'s alright" the door and walls seemed to catch the words before they could reach his ears, for only two words made it through to his brain.

However, the loud, shrill pitch of his aunt had no such problem. "He has slept long enough, he needs…"

Her voice was cut off by yet another, this one gruff, harsh, and haggard. It was oddly familiar and yet impossible to place "Let the boy sleep. You haven't answered my question." It almost sounded amused and yet it had a roughness to it that said the owner didn't take kindly to games.

The words, though, struck him as odd and lead to a new thought that caused his stomach to churn. _Police? Was it possible they had found his shirt? Possible they had tracked him this quickly? _

Before his thoughts could become too intemperate, a new voice broke into the conversation. This one he recognized; knew as well as his own. It belonged to a man a barely knew yet thought of as a sort of surrogate uncle or a fatherly figure.

He pushed the door open, his eyes instantly landing on the dark haired adult in mid-sentence. Their eyes connected as the man let the words drop. His face was drawn and tired, highlighted by the greying black hair that limply lied along his ears and down towards his mouth. His body was thin yet solid, his skin a brightening grey. His bones had gained muscle, though it didn't stop them from poking through the skin of his torso. Ultimately, he looked like a man worn by the world. However, his eyes said very differently as strikingly bright grey met his own.

"Harry." It was partially a whisper of surprise, partially a breathe of greeting; but it was all he needed.

"Sirius!" he cried as he ran forward and embraced the elder man. It had been so long since he had last seen his godfather; much too long. His arms tightened around the frail figure before he pulled back slightly to smile up at the wan face of his father's best friend.

Grey eyes swept up and down his own form, taking in every minute detail and easily spotting the things he wanted hidden. He watched as they narrowed upon noticing the bruise visible over his shirt collar before they flicked up to his face in a silent question.

"I had a little adventure last night" he said, shrugging his shoulders uncaringly. He didn't want to share his story with his aunt still in the room. Sirius seemed to understand that, for a slight nod was the only answer he received.

Before anything else could be shared, however, a relatively large hand landed on his shoulder causing him to slightly wince. This, also, was noticed by the man standing before him, but he said nothing. He was spun away from his godfather to meet the wider room.

There were three other people who currently shared the kitchen space. His aunt was sitting at the table looking a mix between distraught and furious. She had a cup of tea in her hands, though it appeared to be untouched.

Standing behind her with a foot pressed against the wall was a young woman in her early to mid-twenties. Her face was heart shaped, her skin a health pale, her eyes a twinkling darkness. What stuck out the most however, was her hair. It was a bright bubble-gum pink, cut short and spiked perfectly. He could suddenly understand Aunt Petunia's face. She hated abnormalities, and that hair was definitely abnormal.

"Wotcher, Harry!" she said enthusiastically, smiling broadly and tipping her head in his direction. He nodded back to her nervously and a little confused. He was pretty sure he had never met the woman in his life; surely he would remember her bright pink hair if he had. Then again, it wasn't unknown of for people to know him that he had never met.

She seemed to catch on to his thoughts as her smile only grew, "Name's Tonks, nice to meet cha" she said kicking off the wall to take a step forward only to bump into the back of his aunt's chair. He couldn't hold the chuckle that formed at his aunt's disgruntled face. The pink haired woman smiled up at him just as brightly as before, obviously she did this sort of thing often.

"Hi" he responded politely before looking at the other person inhabiting the room.

This face he recognized; though last time he saw it, it was being worn by an imposter. It was the rough, sharp face of his would've been professor. Much like the poser, this man had scares running down his face and covering his hands; similarly, a chunk of his nose was missing along with a leg. He also had a fake electric blue eye that whirled around in its socket while the other was a much more normal black. The man inspected him as he placed his full weight against a knobby staff.

He couldn't help but to stare at the man he thought he knew. It was weird knowing this was the real Alastor Moody when he had spent an entire year being taught by another.

"How do we know it's him?" he asked aggressively, blue eye roaming all over his features. He could hear Sirius sigh as if this was expected, "Harry" he called over. He turned to face his godfather, head tilting slightly in an unasked question. "What is the name of the hippogriff you rescued?"

That was easy "Buckbeak" he answered smoothly watching as the other man nodded.

Seemingly satisfied, Moody hobbled forward before growling out another question "Where's your trunk boy?" He was quickly beginning to wonder if the imposter was not him instead.

Mentally shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he shrugged and said "This way" before heading out of the kitchen. Surprisingly all four adults followed him into the hall.

He paused in front of the cupboard and nodded in its direction. He could easily have opened it, but that would reveal his picks to his aunt and that was one thing he most definitely didn't want. Looking over at his godfather, he saw Sirius's eyebrows rise before the man asked the expected question "It's in there?"

He only nodded.

The single witch of the group quickly pulled her wand and called out "Alohomora". The lock clicked and the door silently slid open. His trunk was as he left it, sat on its side in its dusty little prison. He couldn't help the smile as he reached in and tugged the heavy wood out.

Tonks looked at the thing before waving her wand again, this time saying "Reducio" causing the trunk to shrink until it was the size of one's palm. She then bent down and picked it up, placing it in a pocket and patting it closed.

"What else cha need Harry?" she asked when she was done.

"Just my knapsack, its upstairs." with that, he ran for the stairs, taking them three at a time. He flew into his room and rummaged around for his bag. Finding it shoved under his bed, he stuffed it with the homework he started and a few clothes. As a last thought, he grabbed his hidden picks and placed them in a side pocket. They might come in handy later on down the road. Packed and ready, he raced back to his unexpected rescue party.

The three magical folk were standing at the bottom of the stairs while his aunt had disappeared, though he didn't much care about her absence.

Sirius beamed at him when he joined the others at the foot of the steps. "Guess you know what a portkey is?" he asked slyly throwing an arm around his godson's shoulders.

He laughed lightly and nodded "Ron and his dad introduced me last year. Can't say I like 'em much." He muttered the last part earning him a few chuckles from the elders.

When the noise died down, Moody quickly took charge. Digging in his pocket, he drew out an antique silver pocket watch. It was intricately engraved with a design that had no final shape and beautifully aged around the edges and ridges. Allowing it to swing from the chain, Moody presented it to the crowd.

"This" he stated, "will take us to headquarters. Grab a hold of the chain and another person. No ones to be left behind." he inspected the face of the others surrounding him with his swirling blue eye. "It leaves at 12 o'clock exactly." He added gruffly.

Sirius quickly pulled him in before the others could move, causing him to laugh at the elder man's antics.

Checking the time via the clock on the mantle he reached out to touch the chain. The others followed suit compliantly and soon they were all watching the time tick by. It would be less than a minute before the portkey would activate, the second hand was slowly ticking toward the top as all eyes watched its travel.

Sirius moved his hand down the chain till it bumped his own; he looked up at the man who had his arm wrapped around his shoulders to find a mischievous glint in his bright grey eyes. Something told him his godfather had something planned.

As the second hand ticked just to the left of the twelve, he closed his eyes. Hoping that by not seeing it, his stomach would be spared the unceremonious upheaving it typically went through when using this method of travel.

However, instead of the expected pull behind his navel, he felt his hand covered by a much larger one and quickly being wrenched from the object swirling away. The pull back was so unexpected he stumbled back into his godfather knocking them both to the unforgiving floor. The man beneath him moaned at the impact before bursting into a fit of laughter.

He rolled off and onto the floor to sit on his knees wondering what just happened, "Umm, Sirius why did you make us miss the portkey?" he asked confusedly.

Laughing grey eyes snapped to confused green, as his godfather slowly got himself under control. Finally he managed to choke out "Well, truthfully, I didn't expect that to work." He said chuckling, "But to answer your question, I wanted to show you something. Something I think you should have seen a long time ago."

He only tilted his head to the side questioningly before hauling himself to his feet, Sirius following.

"Alright?"

The elder man nodded and looked him over, checking to see if he hurt himself in the fall. He only shook his head at the man's inquiry.

His godfather looked pointedly at the visible bruises, "You have a few stories to share, but right now we need to head out before the other two come looking for us. Ever apparated before?" he asked grinning.

Again he shook his head, _this is gonna be interesting_ he decided as the man moved to take hold of his arm.

"Hang on tight and don't let go" Sirius told him. Before he could respond, he twisted and the two snapped out of existence.

* * *

**AN:**

**Umm...Sorry? I know I said May but, well, it's June. Good news is, I have been writing in that month off, just not posting. So you could look for a new update soon!**

**Yes, I know I said this would be trial...but I realized I had to do a few things first. That will be chapter 8 and 9 instead.**

**Thank you to everyone who has read, favored and/or alerted this. **

**And a special thanks to all those who reviewed:**

**Kairan1979**

_Too true_

**Man of Constant Sorrow**

_You have amazing characteristics and I plan to use a bit of that! But there are a few surprises still in store._

**Sunneedee**

**PurpleBullet**

**See you all soon,**

******Next update: I like even numbers...so lets go with the 3rd...of June**

**Love8Peace**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Balance in War**

Harry teaches himself the art of healing so he might better protect himself and his friends. Only to find he has a knack for it and a love for its results. When war wreaks havoc, this cherished new skill brings forth the creation of a new persona and a new question: will he fight?

**SEVEN**

He thudded onto the ground never more thankful for its support. He felt like he had just been sucked through a straw and his innards where still squished. Looking up at the man who just introduced him to this new method of transportation, he scolded "You could've warned me."

Sirius only honored him with the mischievous grin he shared before. "You alright?" He asked offering a hand down. He only shook his head and accepted the hand, allowing Sirius to pull him to his feet and dust some of the dirt off his shirt. "Yeah, I thought so." The man remarked throwing an arm around his shoulders and steering him away.

"Think I have a new least favorite form of traveling" he muttered as he was lead down the street. His words were answered by the sing song laugh of his godfather. After a moment of obtaining his bearings he asked "So where are we anyway?"

The road they walked was made of light cobblestones wedged together and cemented by dirt and clay; much like one would see in older towns. It being only midmorning, the sun shined across the rock giving it a soft glowing appearance. The old fashion feel was enhanced by the houses that lined either side of the street. They were made of stone and wood, with arches and columns, and wonky windows to allow a cool breeze in the heat of summer. None stood out among the others but each was unique in its own way.

Sirius never answered his question, only lead him farther into the heart of the town. The street opened up to flow along town square. Were they to follow it, they would walk by a little pub situated with plenty of space next to a post office. However, instead they walked straight, heading for the center of the open area where a statue stood surrounded by a small grassy spot and protected by a short three foot wall.

Before they walked alone along the streets, but it seemed now they had found the people. There were not many out and about, but a few were running in and out of the post office, a lone priest was sitting by the church facing the pub, and a young mother and her child were sitting along the wall that marked the center of town looking at the statue.

Sirius led him right up to that statue that seemed to captivate the little girl on the wall. He soon figured out why as he got closer himself. From a distance, it was a war memorial depicting soldiers side by side ready to stand strong for their country. But upon closer inspection, the statue shifted to show that of a young family. A man with glasses perched on his nose was curled around a woman with long flowing hair. In the woman's arms was a small swatch of blankets that gently held a sleeping baby.

He had a feeling he knew who that memorial was depicting. They stood in silence for a moment before Sirius once more lead him down another side street. Not a word was said as they walked. If his thoughts were correct, it was likely his godfather was in pain.

The farther down the street they walked, the slower and quieter Sirius became, until finally they halted at a peeling white picket fence covered in vines growing up the sides. Before them was a wrought iron gate missing a hinge and carrying proudly a sign upon its bars. Though it was hardly legible due to years of wear along with little notes others placed upon its grain, he could still decipher a few words:

"Preserved as…monument…Potters and…reminder of…violence that tore…apart."

Though difficult to read, the meaning was relatively easy to understand. The little messages surrounding those words were also easy to comprehend as they were words of encouragement for the infant who lost everything on this hallow ground.

His lips curled in a sad smile as his eyes moved from the sign to follow the overgrown walk way up to his one-time home. The house looked like any other that lined these streets with a front door and arched entrance way, windows outlined by wood, and stones climbing up the walls. There was but one major distinguishing factor. While the first floor stood proudly; the second sunk in upon itself. The walls that still stood were blackened, the roof that still hung drooped, and where once a room might have been, there was nothing but open air. He felt that even on the brightest of days, this place would still be cloaked in darkness. He had always wondered about his once upon a time dwelling; but now that he stood here, he wished he had never come.

He blinked away the wetness in his eyes and turned to face his godfather. The man stood completely motionless, eyes transfixed upon the house of his closest friends, and tears rolling down his cheeks unnoticed.

He felt like he was trespassing in a private moment and wanted to give the man time of his own. That plus the overwhelming depressing sense of the area had him turning to walk back down the street they had come. He didn't get far though as a hand came to rest on his right shoulder and stop him from leaving.

He didn't turn around to face Sirius but neither did the limb fall from its resting place. For a moment they simply stood there, together yet alone. He made no move to pull away, only stood still in placidity. Finally after a long moment of silence, a gruff voice filed the void.

"Harry," the name was uttered in such a hoarse tone that Sirius let it drop, cleared his throat and tried again. "Harry, your parents would be proud of you. Proud of the boy who stands here now, proud of what you've accomplished in your life, proud of your strengths and proud of your weaknesses. They would be proud of whatever life you choose to lead. Would support you in every way they could." Sirius spoke with such surety that he could not believe the man wrong. He continued "It doesn't matter what others think, what others expect of you. This is your life not theirs." The hand still resting upon his shoulder pulled it back, forcing him to come face to face with his godfather. Somber grey eyes locked with his own as Sirius once more began to speak. "When I was your age I was making my own decisions on how to live my life. Now it's your turn." The man's eyes softened as they averted back to the decaying house, a forlorn smile alighting his lips. "If your mother ever knew I was telling her fifteen year old son to do as I, well let's just say a wild grizzly would be kinder."

His heart beat quicker at that comment as he exhaled a sad chuckle. He would never know his mum, but to know she would so fiercely protect and worry over him made him irrationally happy.

A few minutes passed as he thought and Sirius remembered. Finally the man dragged himself out of his thoughts and began to speak once more. "Forget the world, forget everyone's expectations, and forget everyone's silly beliefs. Just be Harry." He allowed a silence to follow as if giving him time to process his meaning. "What is it you want to do?"

With a loud snap and a resounding crash, the two landed upon a rusted, termite infested park bench in the middle of a small park somewhere in London. Again he felt nausea fight its way to the surface as he forced himself up. This time, however, he wasn't the only one on the ground. Sirius knelt beside him hugging his knee and muttering a few choice words.

Like his godfather had for him not an hour ago, he offered his hand to help the man, raising a questioning eyebrow as he did so.

Sirius shook his head and accepted the hand, saying in an exasperated tone "It's been a while since I've apparated; it's really much more difficult than you think."

A light chuckle passed his lips as he pulled the man to his feet.

The park was covered in trees, overgrown and tangled in ivy, there were no kid areas, only two or three rundown benches scattered here and there. The place was completely deserted except for them. Looking right, he saw an entry way made of bricks curved in an arch and protected by a wrought iron gate that had seen better days.

Sirius led them that way. He pushed open the burry iron and walked out on to a deserted road lined with old townhouses. Following the man, he looked up at the nearest street sign and asked "Grimmauld place?"

In response, Sirius scowled. "This is the street I grew up on, depressing isn't it?"

He decided that question did not need an answer and instead asked one of his own, "Why are we here?"

Sirius looked over his shoulder to answer, "This is where the Order is."

Confusion lacing his voice, he asked "Order?"

A little smile fell upon his godfather's lips "You'll see."

They fell into an easy silence as they made their way down the road. Lost in his own thoughts he was not prepared for Sirius' sudden stop and walked into the elder's bony back. Sirius threw an arm around his shoulders to keep him from falling then, when he was sure of his balance, turned them to face the wall of houses.

He looked up at the big brick buildings, wondering if his godfather really did grow up in one of those elongated homes. It was hard to see, the wild energetic young man stuck inside a house thinner than his room at Privet.

While Sirius had his left arm around his shoulders, he dug his right one into his pockets pulling out a folded piece of parchment.

He hadn't even noticed what the man was doing until that parchment was shoved into his hands. He looked down at it before looking back up at Sirius, a quizzical edge in his eyes.

"Read it, memorize it, and burn it." The man said in way of instructions.

Averting his eyes to the thing he held, he carefully unfolded it. Written in a nice, elegant script were the words: 12 Grimmuald place, London.

Not understanding, he looked back up at Sirius mouth open ready to ask the question plaguing him; but Sirius, ready for it, only pointed in the direction of the houses. His eyes followed said finger until they landed on the buildings once more. This time, however, he noticed something that previously was lost to him. The numbers on the buildings were incorrect. To the left were numbers ten and eleven and to the right were thirteen and fourteen. Number twelve was not there.

Looking back at the paper he read again the words written there, this time doing the job of memorizing every letter scripted. When he was sure the words were forever engrained in his mind, he looked back up.

Where once eleven and thirteen sat side by side, now they were shoved away as a new building began to come into existence; this one labeled number twelve.

While he was still contemplating this new discovery, Sirius took out his wand and lighted the paper he still held. Shocked by the sudden heat on his skin, he looked down at the now ashes in his hands.

"Wouldn't want anyone else finding this place" Sirius said as he walked up the few stairs to the front door. He watched the man drag the tip of his wand along the wood and heard the locks and bolts click on the other side. When the last lock clicked, the door swung in.

Sirius looked back at him, holding the door open. Getting the hint, he took the steps two at a time and walked into the house; Sirius behind him closing and locking the entry once they were both through.

The hall they walked into was dark, dusty, and thin. Two could hardly walk shoulder to shoulder down the aisle. The walls were covered in drooping wallpaper, the ceiling paint impossible to tell through all the cobwebs. Every so many feet, a picture frame hung, covered by curtains faded by time.

Seeing as there were limited options, he began walking down the narrow passageway, Sirius's steps softly padding behind him. It led to a slightly bigger hall that offered three routes. Straight was a dark room, lightened only by a single candle that sat just outside of the doorframe. To the left was a swinging door that had clearly been freshly painted. And to the right was an old creaky staircase that led to the upper stories.

Sirius squeezed by him, and walked towards the left, disappearing through the door. Deciding to follow the man, he pushed the door open and was greeted by a shallow staircase leading down. At the bottom of the steps was an entry way with no door. He could easily distinguish his godfather's shadow standing just inside the frame.

It was even easier to hear his voice, "Harry's here."

But the man hardly got the words out before yelling broke out. He recognized a few of the voices but others were foreign to him.

Slowly taking the stairs down, he listened to the berating Sirius was receiving.

"HOW COULD YOU?! YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM HIS GUARD AND DISSAPPEARED OFF THE MAP! WE WERE SCARED TO DEATH!" Came the shrill voice of Mrs. Weasley.

"Honestly Sirius, you two could have been attacked and no one would have been the wiser. You could've got him killed, was that what you wanted? This has got to top all of the idiotic stunts you've ever pulled" that was the disappointedly stern tone of one Remus Lupin.

Others were speaking over themselves trying to get their two cents in, all clearly upset at Sirius for pulling him away from his security detail.

He stepped into the room, came around his godfather and stood slightly in front of the man in a supportive gesture. "Look, everything's fine. No one was hurt, nothing happened." He said to the room as a whole, "I appreciate your concern but it is unnecessary, we're both okay. So just drop it."

The room, silenced by his presence, began to buzz with angry talk or concerned cooing.

Finally, Remus stood and gathered the attention of the congregated witches and wizards. "Right now, Harry is safe and healthy inside headquarters. We have a meeting to finish before lunch." Turning to Harry, he said, "The kids are upstairs, why don't you go settle in and hang out? We will call you all down when lunch is to be served."

Everyone seemed to agree, so with questions still plaguing his mind, he turned around and left the room.

The stairs were rickety, and creaked with every motion; but they held his weight as he took them slowly. He strained his ears to try to hear what was being said below, but some clever witch or wizard must have cast a privacy ward as not a sound floated up from the room he recently vacated.

Giving up, he made his way to the third floor, hearing scuffling and voices coming from its landing. He followed the noises until he stood in the doorway of a faded grey bedroom. Two beds sat across from each other, taking up the majority of the room's space. A window barely managed to fit between the two, with a low table and chair sitting just beneath it. Sitting on the desk with a leg pulled up was one of the redheaded twins, his head thrown back in laughter. On the floor between the beds were the other twin and his freckled faced best friend scrapping over something string-like and clear. Sitting on the bed to the right, were Hermione and Ginny, watching on with expressions of distaste and amusement. None of them noticed his presence as he stood there watching the scene unfold.

When it seemed like the wrestling match was finally entering a loll, he cleared his throat; "Well isn't this just dandy." He said sarcastically. The occupants of the room froze as every face comically turned to his. After a mere second of halted motion, the room erupted as everyone engulfed him and pulled him through the frame, questions flying everywhere.

"What happened? Mum said you'd be here ages ago"

"Did Sirius really kidnap you?"

"Did he show you any cool spells?"

"Did you fight dozens of Death Eaters?"

"Did they let you into the meeting?"

"Did you hear anything important?"

"Did they tell you anything?"

The questions came from every which way making it impossible to know who spoke what, or even hear the words properly. But that last one he did catch and he felt his temper rise.

"Who would bloody tell _me_ anything?" he said fiercely. Silence answered him, but that was just fine, he wasn't done yet, "All summer, all I've gotten were three letters each saying 'stay put'. Not one of them said anything about Voldemort" he ignored the flinches, "Not one of them said how the world was fairing. Not even one of them said how my _friends_ were doing" his voice was growing louder and louder. "Tell me, how would I know anything when I don't even know where we are?"

Everyone seemed to take a step back as he exploded, and when he was done Hermione spoke up from his left. "Were at headquarters, Harry" Her tone was soothing, as if she were trying to calm a scared babe. That only worked to make him madder.

"What bloody Headquarters?" he asked trying to reign in his outraged tone, and failing.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other as if silently communicating their trepidation.

His temper just kept rising.

Finally Ron answered, "The Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters, mate."

Confusion was now mixing with anger, as he asked in a slightly calmer tone, "And what is that?"

"The group who fights against the dark" one of the twins answered.

"The _adult_ group" the other clarified, clearly agitated over that segment.

"Bloody gits the lot of 'em"

"Not letting us in though we're of age"

The tension and frustration began to drain out of him leaving him tired and mentally exhausted. He had had a rough couple of days and it all seemed to be falling in on him now. Moving through his gathered friends, he claimed a bed and shut his eyes, asleep within moments.

He awoke to a worried Hermione shaking his shoulder. When his groggy green eyes met hers, she said "You slept through lunch, but dinner is on the table and you really need to eat something"

Nodding his head, he gathered himself and shoved off of the warm mattress. She stayed close to him offering support in case he was to need it. But he found her gesture an overbearance and shoved ahead, missing the hurt look in her deep brown eyes.

When they arrived in the downstairs room, he realized he didn't pay much attention to it before. On his first visit he thought it a long dining room, but now he could really see it, he noticed the stove sitting on the back left corner, the sink and cabinets that engulfed the back wall and right corner and the fireplace that sat just to the right of all the kitchen essentials. In the center of the room, of course, was the long table he saw earlier. Only this time, it was nearly empty.

He took a seat next to Sirius as Hermione went to sit beside Ginny and the woman who picked him up earlier, Tonks was it?

Looking over at Sirius, he asked "Didn't get into too much trouble, did you?"

Sirius barked out a laugh as he shook his head, "That was nothing, you should see McGonagall when _she_ gets really mad. She's right scary!"

Remus, that moment walking in, placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder and confirmed, "And he would know. How you've been Harry?"

He nodded back, "Loads better, now"

Remus, taking the empty seat beside him, asked "And your summer?"

A sheepish grin split his face as he answered with one word "Interesting."

Sirius took that moment to glance down at his hidden bruises before raising an eyebrow, "Yes, Harry why don't you tell us just how _interesting_ it's been?" he asked, grey eyes shifting up his face.

Knowing it would be impossible to avoid this question, he quietly divulged his story to the two best friends of his father; doing his best to make it thrilling for Sirius yet reasonably safe to evade a rebuke from Remus.

By the time he finished, diner had started and ended and people were beginning to wander off.

Sirius whistled at his tale, eyebrows raised, "wow, quick thinking, don't think I would've come up with that."

He straightened at the praise, only to be cut down by the worrisome words of Remus "That was idiotic, Harry. You could've died!"

Sirius rolled his eyes, "What did you want him to do Moony, let the chick die?"

Remus answered with a fierce "No, but he shouldn't have faced that alone. The least he could've done was call for help _first."_

"I didn't know I was walking in on that" He piped up.

Remus turned on him, "And you shouldn't have been out on you own in the first place."

His temper began to boil once more, "I'm fifteen, I'm not some little kid you have to hug every time he scrapes his knee. I've faced Voldemort more times than I care to count and I'm fine. You don't need to keep looking over my shoulder like a paranoid hen." Unknowingly, his voice was rising making it easy for all onlookers.

It wasn't Remus who responded to his statement. Instead, Mrs. Weasley took over the argument, "Exactly, you're fifteen, you're too young."

Before he could respond, Sirius did "He's not a child!"

"He's not an adult either! He's not _James,_ Sirius! "

He had a bad feeling this wasn't just about his adventures anymore.

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly" said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" he asked.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are _not_ your father, however much you might look like him!" Said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I am an irresponsible godfather? Because I want my godson to know full well what he is getting into?"

Now he was positive this was not still about his tale in the alley.

"He shouldn't be in it at all!"

"But he is!"

That seemed to take the wind out of Mrs. Weasley's sails, as she sat back down in her chair.

Confused by the encounter, he looked over at his godfather who only shook his head. "I'll talk to you later." Sirius muttered so only he might hear. He gave a light nod, and stretched out his back, covering a yawn in the process.

After a moment of peace, Mr. Weasley stood up and announced "Bed, I think."

To limited groans of protest and many staggered yawns, the kitchen began to empty as everyone headed up to their beds or towards the door to apparate home, as in Remus's case.

* * *

**AN:**

**So originally I was not to work over the summer but I got a call in and well...it was too good. So I packed my stuff and went camping. Where I made a rather obvious realizations: Mother Nature does NOT come with wifi. I had a bit of internet, but decided to wait til I got home before updating. So here's your very late update. **

**Thanks to everyone who favored/alerted/ or just read.**

**Thank you to my awesome reviewers:**

**Flame55**

**Man of Constant Sorrow**

_I didn't know that bit about the tags, would've been a good plot line!_

_And good guess!_

**Next chapter - Harry goes to court!**

**Hope to see you all soon, **

**Love8Peace**


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